Three times a mother

I shared an essay of Anna Quindlen’s Mother’s Day thoughts over at Moms@Work, but here are some of my own.

It’s late as I write this.  I should probably pick up my book as a reliable prelude to falling asleep, but I have a coupon for a nap that I can cash in, as necessary.  The coupon, stapled together with a half-dozen others, was one of my Mother’s Day presents.  I’ve already used one.  I went with the “Mother’s choice” and requested a little assistance with vacuuming. Apparently the coupons are valid because it (he) worked and I returned from my run to find the vacuum out and plugged in.  It may even have been turned on.

It’s been a sweet weekend, kind of watercolored feeling.  Friday was my Griffin day – lacrosse, fried chicken, a new favorite movie, his physical self present in each of those activities.  Like the two brothers he is sandwiched between, he has his own personal refrain which has inspired me to nickname him “It’s not my fault.”  Like the eye-roll he mastered at age 11, he uses his mantra a bit self-consciously, knowing his lack of responsibility only confirms his position as man-boy.

There was a late morning soccer game, in a rain that didn’t relent until the kids were sodden and soaked with their own ability to tough it out.  My little guy, Mr. “I’m lazy,” ran that slippery field like nobody’s business, a constant smile on his face.  When he finally gave in to sleep, much, much later, he did so with happy satisfaction.

And Herr “I don’t know,” the oldest of the Lilly boys, finished the weekend with a solo trip to NYC, conceived and planned by himself.  He promised not to talk to strangers and despite his thoughtfulness, I asked him to not travel to Bleeker Street to get coffee for me from my favorite place.  The surprise of a dozen roses, prior to our departure for the train station early this morning, was evidence enough of his ability to plan.

My three sons, I don’t know, It’s not my fault, I’m lazy.  I’ll keep ‘em.

Done with Mother’s Day

Yet another benefit of drinking – flower boxes!

Screw Hallmark – as far as I’m concerned, May 5th was my ideal Mother’s Day. No matter what happens next Sunday, I will cherish the day I had, from the scandalously late start to the fortified-with-an-afternoon-nap late ending – perfect! Let me be a little more specific…

Saturday night, I shot a SEEN gallery down at Prime 677.  The occasion was a fundraiser for the Huntington’s Disease Society of America and it was a lovely event.  The food was spectacular and the folks at Empire Wines rallied the troops to put on an extraordinary wine tasting.  It’s been noted by some astute Times Union readers that whenever an event involves wine, I’m usually there.  Guilty as charged.

I got home from the party working at about 10:30 only to find my little guy desperately upset that he had been denied a ‘s’more from the neighbor’s party, a situation I was able to correct with a soothing shower and some ice cream.  Tucking him in at such a late hour gave me the first gift of Sunday – he slept until 10:00, which gave me an incredibly quiet morning.  Soft music, strong coffee and the paper comprise my personal morning bliss trifecta.  So far, so good.

After the boys departed at noon for their Dad’s, I got busy in the front yard with mulch and some annuals.  The sun was glorious, birds were chirping and the simple joy of getting a little dirty made my heart sing.  I had a mid afternoon visit from the person I most love spending time with and the day moved along at a pace that was completely enjoyable.  I accomplished some other chores, including eating a fantastic lunch salad, and punctuated the afternoon with an indulgent nap on clean sheets. But, wait – there’s more.

Caesar salad with shaved Romano and grilled asparagus

As the day cooled down a bit, I tied on my running shoes and hit the streets for a 5-mile lap through the neighborhood.  I had intended to go a bit further, but contented myself with not pushing myself too hard and tried to just enjoy myself.  Done.  A shower, a quick visit with the neighbors for a glass of wine and then home again for finale of the only reality show I would ever want to be on, The Amazing Race, and I was in bed by 10:15, thoroughly relaxed and satisfied with my day.

There weren’t any tulips or handmade crafts, but nonetheless it was a lovely day with a wonderful mix of boys, friends, productivity, relaxation and good food and wine.  Mother’s Day 2013 is a done deal, as far as I am concerned.  Any additional gifts are truly unnecessary, although I do have a fondness for the imperfectly made card along with a hankering for a French lilac bush.  Just saying.

Hope you made it to NY in Bloom!

Can’t you practically smell them?

Here’s what you missed if you didn’t get to the NYS Museum this past weekend.  My photos are preceded by some taken by Times Union staff photographer, Michael P Farrell.  I’m in good company!

Troy’s Botanic Studio

I used to really have a way with plants.  And I don’t mean that in a good way.  Other than a single plant that somehow survived the days when I had to choose between nurturing the children or some potted greenery, I pretty much killed plants. 

Something shifted, though, about 10 years ago.  I inherited a rubber plant (tree?) from a friend departing town, and unlike our friendship, this plant has thrived.  Two re-pottings later this plant towers over me and is beautifully lush all year long. My confidence grew and I took on a spider plant, which became multiple plants as it happily threw off shoots.  I began forcing flowers during the winter and more seriously puttering around my tiny front garden.  But the day I knew I had arrived as a competent plant tender was when Lisa gave me a mostly dead fern, a type of plant that I have killed on a routine basis, and told me I could make it live.  And I did.

Last year I added an asparagus fern, also nearly dead, to my indoor garden and its beautiful  feathery fronds make me happy every time I see them.  I also dug up my parking strip (the grass between the curb and the sidewalk) and added some herbs and iris to my landscape. Yeah, I got this.  

Whether you struggle with gardening or have a natural green thumb, Botanic Studio on River Street in Troy is bound to inspire.  The space is gorgeous and tranquil and each eyeful of the shop is pleasing.  Get yourself to Troy and bring some of that peace to your home.

Immediate impressions – Champagne on the Park

 

Stunning setting.  Beautiful people. Delicious food.  Great vibe.  Rocking music. 
And a young man who made me feel like Gina Davis in Thelma and Louise.
Ah, Albany,I love you!

May Day

image: http://s3-media4.ak.yelpcdn.com

In Germany, where my mother comes from, May 1st is a holiday.  There are flowers and Maypole dancing and tree planting ceremonies on this day which celebrates spring’s midway point. It is a sweet, sweet day, reminiscent of a more simple time. My mother, the third of fifteen children, never really celebrated her own birth on this special day, nor really on any other day. For her, May Day was just another day to be disappointed by life.

My second child was due on May 1st, 1999, his soon-to-be-Oma’s 61st birthday.  I was mildly distressed by this coincidence because I certainly didn’t want my child to share a birthday with someone who didn’t acknowledge her own life with joy. Of course, since there was little I could do to determine Baby #2′s arrival day, I just hoped for an early arrival and, when my water broke on April 29th, I knew I got lucky.   Griffin Hudson arrived exactly one day early, beautifully pink with a hearty cry and a bald head. Unfortunately, his birth was a disappointment to my mother since she had fervently wished that I would have a daughter. You know, a girl as revenge for all the trouble I had caused her during my teen years, trouble I presumably still cause as an adult. At least one of us was happy.

I remember bringing Griffin home from the hospital, driving down Hackett Avenue and noticing that in the 2 short days since Griffin joined our family, everything looked different. The tulip beds in the median had popped and the blue sky was filled with white cottony fuzz from some unknown tree. Spring had arrived with this perfect baby boy.

Although I have considered Griffin to be an old soul since his infancy, today Griffin enters the rank of teenager. It’s a weird thing to know that I’m heading to the Wine Bar tonight to work rather than preparing to share a special meal with my boy, but, I know his Dad has things covered. I was fully present the afternoon he arrived 13 years ago and, on his request, we’ll enjoy dinner tomorrow, May Day, at Cafe Capriccio. At least there will be someone joyfully greeting the month of May. 

Paper White Project – Week 4

We have fragrant blooms, people!!  It was seriously crazy how quickly these bulbs provided gratification, but what would you expect in a November in which the temperature exceeded the average daily high for 21 of 27 days?